


they could turn me against everything in this world (but not you; never you)

by joppers



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: ALL ABOARD THE ANGST TRAIN, F/M, Season six speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 22:25:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17589545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joppers/pseuds/joppers
Summary: Her breath catches in her chest. It wasn't possible- it couldn't be possible.But there he was, ten feet away, looking at her with the same kind of desperate confusion she was sure was written all over her face.





	they could turn me against everything in this world (but not you; never you)

**Author's Note:**

> Can you believe all it took was a 90 second teaser trailer to get me back on my bullshit? Anyway, I'm hyped for S6, hyped for all the Phil/Melinda possibilities, and I'm here for all the angst this season promises. Yasmin asked for fic, and I am here to provide. I hope you enjoy! Title is from a poem.

The tinny sound of gunfire rings in her ears, and Melinda takes a moment to close her eyes, swallowing hard.

She’d returned to the field immediately after leaving Tahiti; it was easier to throw herself into something familiar rather than deal with the grief that had settled into her bones. The ache in her chest was like a companion now, wrapped around her heart and lungs and other vital organs, twining with her DNA until she could no longer extract it.

Mack had used the word reckless to describe some of her actions since coming back to SHIELD- and maybe that was the right word, maybe she did take risks she wouldn’t have before she’d lost the man who’d been written on her heart since long before any of the team had known her. But there was a promise now that hadn’t been there before; a promise that the recklessness and riskiness would lead her back to him.

So she took the more dangerous missions; she threw herself between danger and others without another thought.

Melinda knew it wasn’t healthy; knew he never would have wanted this to be her future. But sometimes, just for a moment, she’d hear his voice amidst the chaos and it would quiet something within in. She starved for the quiet now; looked for it wherever she could.

Sometimes- and she hadn’t told anyone this, not even Daisy- she could see his face within the quiet. Melinda would be lying if she said that that didn’t drive her; that she didn’t disregard the threat of danger in the hopes of seeing him just one more time.

An explosion brought her attention back to the present, and she lifts her gun, shifting her crouch so she could lean around the container she’d hidden behind. The smoke of the grenade finally starts to fade, and she can see a shadowy figure- she holds her fire, though, because something about the gait is so _familiar_.

Her heart thumps, and for a moment she’s sure it’s just her phantom, haunting her once more. But this figure has more substance than any of her previous ghosts; she can hear the sound of footsteps and hear the sound of breathing and she knows this isn’t another hallucination.

So she stands, getting into position and pointing her gun towards it. “Show yourself!”

The figure stops moving, and Melinda squints through the smoke, trying to see better. It clears slowly, and her eyes widen in shock. Her breath catches in her chest. It wasn't possible- it couldn't be possible.

But there he was, ten feet away, looking at her with the same kind of desperate confusion she was sure was written all over her face.

“Phil?” she can’t help the way her voice wavers as her eyes scan the familiar face; the cut jaw, the blue eyes, the short haircut he’d favored for the last few years. She’d never thought she’d see him again, and she drinks in the impossible sight of him. For a moment, the ache lessens.

Phil says nothing, just steps closer, his own gun held loosely as he looks at her. She can feel the intensity of his gaze like a physical weight, and she moves forward, propelled by some unknown force. Swallowing thickly, she lifts a shaky hand towards his face.

“Lin?” he finally speaks, and the sound slices through her.

“I don’t understand,” she whispers, her hand still extended out. She can still remember how it feels to touch his skin; remember the exact weight of his cheek in her palm.

But he’s gone- she doesn’t understand how he could be _here_ , how he could even be _alive_. She’d watched his last breath; held his hand and watched his eyes close and felt him disappear from her world for the second time. For the final time.

But he blinks and she can hear his breathing and she knows, if she were to gather the courage and press a hand to his chest, she’d feel his heart beating. She knows the rhythm now; listened to it enough to have it memorized, playing on a constant loop in the back of her mind.

“You’re gone,” the words leave her throat raw, and he blinks.

“ _You’re_ gone,” is all he says in reply, and her eyebrows contract in confusion.

It doesn’t make sense, and her thoughts are too jumbled to try to connect the dots and untangle the story weaving itself haphazardly before her. She shakes her head, looking back up at him as her hand drops.

“You’re…you’re not mine,” each word feels like shards of glass as she speaks, forcing them up her throat and out of her mouth. She can see the way they embed themselves in Phil, striking him in all the soft places along his throat and beneath his jaw; places she’d kissed and soothed and touched so gently it was like a whisper.

The sound of heavy footsteps announce the arrival of two others; a heavyset man and a jet-black haired young woman.

“We’re outnumbered, Boss. They brought a secondary strike team in,” the man tells Phil, and the realization washes over Melinda like a bucket of ice water dumped on her head.

“You’re their leader,” she says, feeling the iciness of numbness permeate her chest, and somehow that’s worse than the ache. “What are you doing, Phil?”

The blue eyes that stare back at her are no longer familiar; they’re cold and cruel, and the smirk that cuts his mouth is humorless- there’s something malicious about it.

“Like you said- I’m not your Phil. And you aren’t my Melinda,” the words don’t sound right in Phil’s voice, and Melinda steps back, raising her gun back up to level with his chest. “I know you can’t do it. Let’s not pretend with each other.”

Her fingers wrap around the gun tighter, pointer on the trigger, but her hands still shake just a touch as she thinks about the heart beating under his shirt. It’s enough for Phil to flick something open and press a button.

The three forms before her begin to dissipate, illuminated by a red light.

“See you around, sweetheart,” is the last thing Phil says before they disappear, leaving her alone once more in the fading crimson glow.


End file.
